


The Way Back Home Is Always Long

by nightshifted



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/nightshifted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tidbits of their lives that they share with each other is like a digital scrapbook of the time they're not spending together, and that should probably be Santana's first indication that what they had wasn't really a one-night stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Back Home Is Always Long

"Santana? Is that really you?"

Santana spins around, catching a flash of brown hair and a giant smile before she's being wrapped up in a tight embrace. She stumbles back, hands held out defensively. It isn't until her assailant steps away and rolls apprehensively on the balls of her feet that Santana gets her first real look at the other girl.

"Rachel?! Damn, you look—" Hot, she wants to say. Grown up. _Fuckable._ "Did someone finally set your old wardrobe on fire?"

Rachel rolls her eyes in dramatic Berry fashion. "Very cute, Santana. And frankly disrespectful to those who have lost their belongings in house fires."

Santana smirks. "You haven't changed one bit, Barbra Streisand." She gives Rachel a quick once-over, eyes lingering over her chest. "Looks like the boob fairy finally visited though."

Huffing in mock indignation, Rachel crosses her arms over her chest. "Please refrain from commenting on my breasts."

"Aw, c'mon, Rach. I'm just teasing." Santana lifts her line of sight, slowly taking in Rachel's facial features. "It's been a while. Here for the audition?"

Rachel, all five feet two inches of her, bristles with confidence. "Yes. Flew in from New York for it. I'm a shoo-in for the role. I've been preparing for weeks. You don't stand a chance."

Santana laughs in amusement. "Relax, I don't even fit their description for this character. My agent just likes to keep me on my toes."

Rachel clears her throat. "Oh, well... good."

"So are you still seeing that gorilla? Because I never got a wedding invitation, so I just assumed he accidentally suffocated you while you were doing the nasty, which – didn't I warn you it'd be awful?"

"That—Finn and I didn't work out," Rachel replies softly, looking away as her jaw tightens around a quiver, and she looks so genuinely _upset_ about the entire thing that Santana doesn't even have the heart to rib her about it.

"Hey, tell you what." Santana nudges her lightly with her elbow. "Let's up the ante. You get this, and you get to take me out to dinner."

Rachel looks up. "How does the threat of not only being forced to listen to you constantly insult me but also having to pay for your undoubtedly expensive meal possibly motivate me to succeed at this audition?"

Santana grins and leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice so that only Rachel can hear her. "Because, Rachel, I can make a woman come without even touching her. Play your cards right, and you just might discover how."

Rachel flushes bright red, pulling away. "Th-th-that's extremely inappropriate, Santana," she sputters. "Arousing, but inappropriate."

Santana smirks. Bingo. Not entirely straight. She called that shit in high school. Santana reaches into her bag, pulls out a pen and a stack of post-its, and scribbles her number on the top-most one. Peeling the bright orange post-it away from the rest of the stack, Santana presses it firmly against Rachel's palm, tacking it there.

Santana gets called in before Rachel has a chance to react.

\--

Santana doesn't really expect a call. She hasn't crossed paths with Rachel since the day of the audition nearly a week ago, and before that, it'd been nearly six years. Santana isn't really looking for anything, but she's a natural flirt, so it happens.

Santana hadn't gotten the part, so she assumes Rachel has, but she doesn't have Rachel's number, and there are six Rachel Berrys in LA, and she just doesn't care _that_ much about getting laid by a midget, so. No big deal. (Yes, she realizes that in order to know that, she had to have looked it up. Whatever.)

But then her phone buzzes with a text from a number she doesn't recognize, from an area code that she vaguely recalls is New York. All it says is: _I didn't get it._

Santana quickly taps back: _Damn, I was really looking forward to that free meal._

Just as her message is sending, her phone buzzes again.

_I'm sorry, I don't know why I burdened you with that. I guess I'm just a little upset._

Santana winces, realizing how insensitive her reply would read. She tries to explain, but it's hard to find the right words and string them together coherently under 140 characters, so she hits the call button and brings her phone to her ear.

Rachel picks up after the seventh ring despite presumably being right next to her phone.

"Hello," Rachel greets quietly. She sounds like she's been crying, and _god_ , Santana so does not know how to deal with that.

"Hey, Rachel, listen, I didn't mean to send that last text, not like that. There's this delay between messages, and I didn't see both before I replied, and just—" She's rambling. "I'm sorry you didn't get the part."

"It's fine," Rachel replies stiffly. "Adversity is—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Santana dismisses. "I'm in the business too." She bites her lip, frowning when she hears light sniffling from the other end. "Come on, Rach. Quit moping around. You still in the city?"

"For one more day," Rachel replies.

"Great. Let me treat you to dinner," Santana offers easily.

"But I didn't—the agreement was—"

Santana rolls her eyes. "The agreement was, if you got it, you'd take me out. So it's only fair that if the opposite happens, I take you out. Text me where you're staying; I'll pick you up at seven."

For a moment, there's silence, but then a soft laugh rolls over the line. It sounds a little like anxiety, a lot like happiness, and Santana feels the corners of her own lips tugging upward.

"Wear something with a low neckline," Santana tells her. "Boobs are a gift to my eyeballs."

Rachel giggles. "I didn't say yes."

"Look at it this way: when you're totally famous and constantly on TV, in magazines, whatever—I'm going to have free reign on checking you out anyway. Might as well get a little eye candy in return while you're here, right? It's win-win. Better than crying over this pilot that's probably not even going to get picked up. Not when the casting department clearly sucks, anyway."

Rachel pauses thoughtfully, then lets out a shaky laugh. "Okay, Santana, but this isn't a date. We're just two friends sharing dinner after a prolonged period apart."

Santana grins. "Whatever, Rachel."

\--

Santana shows up at Rachel's hotel exactly three minutes late. She'd planned an impromptu date on the way over, making last-minute reservations at this little Italian place and trying to decide which club to take Rachel to afterward.

Rachel answers her door with her hands on her hips. "You're five minutes late."

"Three," Santana argues, "and sorry. There was this really cute redhead in the elevator, so we stayed in there and made out for three minutes." At Rachel's jaw drop, Santana laughs. "I'm kidding."

Rachel huffs indignantly. "You certainly have a twisted sense of humor."

Santana steps inside and shuts the door behind her, eyes following Rachel as she disappears into the bathroom. "But why would you care if I were macking on some chick in the elevator? This isn't a date, remember?"

Rachel's head pokes out from the bathroom. "I figured you'd insist it was."

"It still can be if you want it to," Santana offers with a shrug. "Up to you how you want the night to end."

Rachel studies Santana for a moment. "I know one-night stands are familiar terrain for you, but—"

Santana immediately bristles. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Rachel deflates. "I didn't mean it like that."

Santana crosses her arms over her chest. "How many different ways are there to interpret that?" She shakes her head, trying not to get upset, but fuck, Rachel doesn't get to make sweeping judgments about her like this. "I'm not the girl I was in high school, and even then, I was in a committed relationship for most of senior year." God, she sounds like such a bitch, and that isn't her intention at all. It's just kind of a sore spot, her old reputation as the school slut. "Forget it. I'm overreacting. You ready to go?"

Rachel crosses the few steps to stand directly in front of Santana, her face tilted up to meet Santana's gaze. Slowly, Rachel runs her hands down Santana's forearms, until their fingers slip easily together. Holding Santana's hands, Rachel sighs.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate that you're easy." Rachel clears her throat. "So where are you taking me?"

"You want to just make out for like an hour in the elevator?" Santana deadpans.

Rachel raises her eyebrows, then laughs a little as she shakes her head, pulling her hands away. "See!"

Santana grins, rolling her eyes a little. "Hitting on you doesn't make me _easy_ ; it just means I have excellent taste in women."

At that, Rachel flushes hard, but she manages to maintain her composure. "Really? If I recall correctly, Santana, you weren't exactly fond of me in high school."

"Yeah, well, if _I_ recall correctly, your tits weren't exactly this nice in high school."

Rachel hides a smile. "Are you taking me out or do you just plan on complimenting my chest the entire night?"

"Those aren't mutually exclusive, so…"

Rachel rolls her eyes and grabs Santana's wrist to lead her out the door.

\--

They never make it to the restaurant, mostly because the moment the elevator doors close behind them, Santana presses Rachel up against the wall of the elevator, bringing her hands to either side of Rachel's head. She hadn't planned to, because she'd actually really been looking forward to wolfing down some breadsticks, but then Rachel had smiled crookedly at her, and yeah. Maybe she is a little easy.

Rachel laughs, but she holds Santana's gaze. "Santana…"

Santana licks her lips. "I could cancel that dinner reservation."

"Santana," Rachel tries again, her head falling back when the motion of the elevator rocks Santana's body gently into hers. Refocusing her eyes, she swallows hard and finds Santana's hips with her hands. "I'm flying back to New York tomorrow afternoon."

Santana nods, her forehead grazing Rachel's as she does. "I know that."

The elevator doors ding open at the lobby, but neither makes a move to leave. Instead, Rachel's hand reaches over to the control panel and jabs at the button back up to the sixth floor. Santana smirks wickedly and leans in, but Rachel stops her with fingertips pressed to her lips.

She hadn't really, _legitimately_ planned on having sex with Rachel. She'd just want to tease her a little, get her flustered, because Santana gets off on the power trip, but if Rachel's willing, well. Santana wouldn't kick that out of bed.

The rest of the ride up is painfully slow, and Santana nearly dropkicks the couple who gets on from the fourth floor, forcing the elevator to stop. Rachel makes Santana distance herself slightly, but Santana's body is humming with arousal, and she knows she's starting to get handsy.

Finally, the elevator stops on their floor, and Santana drags Rachel out of the small space and down the hall toward her room. Rachel fumbles around in her bag for her card key, but it takes her an extraordinarily long amount of time to find it, and Santana can't help herself. She presses Rachel up against the door, her chest to Rachel's back, grinning when Rachel arches into her. She drops her lips to Rachel's shoulder, sliding up to her neck, brushing aside her hair to drop soft kisses to the flushed skin there.

"Counter-productive to me opening this door, Santana," Rachel hisses.

Santana lets up slightly, just enough for Rachel to find her key card and slide it through the slot. The door swings open at Santana's push, and Santana manhandles Rachel inside before kicking the door closed behind them.

After that, it's a flurry of clothes being shed and soft moans of approval as Rachel walks Santana to the bed and gently nudges her down. Santana slides backwards until she's comfortably at the center of the bed, and Rachel, half-naked, crawls on top of her, laughing.

"God, you're so hot under those awful sweaters you used to wear."

Rachel beams all genuine-like, as though she can't believe she's being complimented by Santana Lopez. Then, her eyes shift to determination. She leans down, kisses Santana fiercely with tongue, and when she pulls away, Santana finds herself completely naked.

"Fuck, how'd you do that?"

Rachel shrugs her shoulders teasingly, and god, Santana can't help but find it irritatingly charming. It's like being back in high school again, except instead of the pressure of the hierarchy bullying her into hiding her affinity for fondling boobs and going knuckle deep between some girl's legs, she can be as vocal about this as she wants. Good thing, too, because Rachel keeps rocking herself between Santana's thighs and sucking on her neck, and Jesus.

"Get naked before I shred your underwear with my bare hands."

Rachel laughs, pulling away slightly to comply. As soon as Rachel slips off her bra, Santana pushes herself up and closes her mouth around a nipple, tongue twirling around a hardening peak. Rachel moans, pushing Santana back down and reaching down to touch herself, and fuck, that's hot.

"Sit on my face," Santana orders, trying to take in as much of Rachel's naked body as she can. "I want to eat you out first."

Rachel, hand still rubbing slow circles around her own clit, slides up along Santana's torso until her knees are at either side of Santana's head. Santana holds on to Rachel's thighs and groans at the first taste of her. Rachel grabs the headboard for support but keeps her eyes open, trained on Santana's face, and god, there's very little Santana loves more than watching a girl's reactions as she's going down on them.

But Rachel is surprisingly quiet during. So quiet that Santana gets momentarily concerned that Rachel's having second thoughts or somehow not enjoying this, but then just as Santana's tongue jerks up into her, Rachel's hand suddenly slips into Santana's hair as she bucks her hips against Santana's mouth, and oh yeah, this girl's one of the tactile ones. Santana totally digs it, and maybe she's letting Rachel top, but being the one to shut Rachel up and get her all wet and desperate is such a power trip.

Rachel comes with a quiet _oh_ , her face scrunched up almost like she's trying to hit a high note. Her entire body tenses up in this way that shouldn't be that fucking adorable consider what they're doing. Santana lazily rolls her tongue around until Rachel catches her breath and pulls herself up off Santana's face. Santana wipes her lips once with the back of her hand before Rachel's mouth is on hers, kissing her, moaning when she presumably tastes herself, and then there's a leg between Santana's and friction where she needs it the most, and Santana cants her hips hard.

"Rachel, I swear to god, if your fingers aren't inside me in five seconds…"

But Santana can't for the life of her think of anything to end that threat with. She's in _Rachel's_ hotel room, waiting for _Rachel_ to finger her. She's not exactly overwhelmed with blackmail material here. Rachel looks like she knows as much, but she reaches between their bodies anyway and gives Santana's clit a few soft presses before sliding lower and curling two fingers in. Santana gasps, reaching up to pull Rachel down to kiss her.

Santana can tell that it's not Rachel's first time with a woman, but also that she probably hasn't been with more than one or two, and Santana's not sure why that turns her on so much, but it totally does. Rachel is amazing with her fingers, her tongue, _everything_ , but she's still got that wide-eyed look about her, like she can't really believe they're actually doing this.

It's fucking cute.

Rachel rides Santana's thigh as she thrusts into her over and over, smiling against Santana's mouth when she starts to comes apart under her. But before Santana tumbles over, Rachel detaches from Santana's lips and slides down the length of her body until her head is between her legs. The thumb rolling circles on Santana's clit is replaced with Rachel's mouth, and shit. _Shit_.

Santana moans obscenely, back arching off the bed as Rachel sucks and fingers her, and then she's blinded by wave after wave of pleasure as her body clenches hard around Rachel's ministrations. Rachel pumps in and out a few more times to help Santana ride out her orgasm. She doesn't stop applying light pressure to Santana's clit until Santana gently nudges her head away, too sensitive for any more.

Rachel licks her lips clean, then crawls back up to lie down next to Santana with a satisfied grin on her face.

"Damn, Rachel," Santana says between breaths, "where'd you learn to do that?"

"College," Rachel replies around a laugh. "Musical theatre majors are notoriously fluid, sexually."

Santana's still buzzing. "Looks like I chose the wrong major, shit."

Santana reaches over and grabs Rachel's arm, pulling her back on top of her. She likes it, maybe a little too much. Rachel gives her this soft look she can't exactly read.

"It's not too late to hit the city," Santana murmurs, reaching one hand up to play with Rachel's tits.

Rachel doesn't swat her hand away. "I'd rather just stay in, Santana, if it's all right with you. I mean, you don't have to stay with me…"

Santana shrugs, grinning when she feels Rachel's nipple pebbling under her thumb. "Let's just order room service and give each other a couple more orgasms."

They do that, and then Santana stays the night.

\--

Santana wakes up with Rachel's head tucked between her cheek and shoulder, limbs all tangled together, and she smiles. It's stupid. When did Rachel get so hot? Or maybe she just wasn't paying enough attention in high school. She reaches up and brushes her knuckles gently against Rachel's cheek. Rachel's face scrunches up adorably for a moment, but she doesn't wake up.

Santana checks the time. It's early. Judging by the lack of light filtering in from the window, the sun has barely risen. When she turns back to Rachel, her eyes are fluttering open, and Santana chances a peck on her forehead. Under the covers, Rachel's hand slides up Santana's bare spine until her palm is pressed against Santana's shoulder blade. Rachel makes a soft noise that sounds way too much like a moan for Santana's thoughts not to go there, and their noses brush as Rachel readjusts herself on the pillow.

Rachel smiles lazily. "Morning," she murmurs in this sexy sleep-voice.

Santana squirms, already embarrassingly wet. "Hi."

"Sleep well?" Rachel asks, nuzzling her face deeper against Santana's neck.

Santana smirks. "Always do after a good orgasm or four."

Without preamble, Rachel's hand trails up Santana's inner thigh, stopping right before the junction, and just—

"Rachel," Santana groans. "Don't tease. Fucking finger me or keep your hands to yourself."

Rachel laughs, actually _laughs_. "You have the libido and verbal charm of a fourteen-year-old boy."

And Jesus, the way Rachel enunciates her words turns Santana on so much, it's unreal. Santana reaches down and finds Rachel's wrist, then pulls it up toward the apex of her thighs, enough that the tips of Rachel's fingers dip through Santana's folds. Santana shuts her eyes and lets out a groan, guiding Rachel's hand over herself again and again, until she's more or less fucking herself with Rachel's fingers.

"God, that feels so good," Santana moans, picking up the pace.

She comes apart around Rachel's fingers when Rachel wraps her lips around one of Santana's nipples and swirls her tongue around the tip. The pleasure is so intense that Santana actually sees white for a second, and like, she's seriously prepared to write a ten-page thank you letter to Rachel's alma mater for introducing her to the joys of lesbianism.

When Santana opens her eyes, still trying to catch her breath, Rachel slowly pulls her fingers out and brings them up to her own lips. Santana watches as Rachel licks herself clean with this suggestive glint in her eyes like the little bitch knows exactly what she's doing. Santana doesn't know how much more her overheated body can take.

But instead of delivering on whatever's cooking in her pretty little head, Rachel's expression sobers. "I have to go home today," she says gently, like she's breaking some terrible news even though they'd both been clear that this is pretty much a one-night stand.

"You should blow that off and stay with me." Santana doesn't mean for it to come out as serious and quietly hopeful as it does. She shuts her eyes again; it's the orgasm talking.

She doesn't expect Rachel to answer earnestly, either. "Santana, I would, but I have obligations in New York."

Santana surprises herself by leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to Rachel's nose. "I know." And suddenly she hates the fucking casting department of the TV show that had given the lead role to some stupid bitch who probably doesn't even deserve it and won't do half as good a job as Rachel would've.

Rachel rolls the pad of her thumb over Santana's bottom lip. "There'll be other auditions…"

Santana nods, and fuck, why is there a lump in her throat? She doesn't actually think this could go anywhere. It's _Rachel_. They'd drive each other completely insane.

Rachel sighs. "Santana…"

And she can see it in Rachel's eyes. She wants to talk about feelings, and that's the last thing Santana wants to do. She's spent a grand total of twelve hours with the girl, and most of it was in bed pleasuring each other. There aren't any feelings to talk about, unless the feeling is awesome orgasms. So she rolls on top of Rachel and presses down with her leg, and that immediately shuts her up.

She makes Rachel come against her bare thigh just to prove that she can.

\--

Santana drops Rachel off at the airport with a lingering kiss and a promise to keep in touch.

It's not until Santana gets home that she finds a crumpled piece of paper in her jacket pocket.

It says, in what she assumes is Rachel's loopy handwriting: _Smile more, because you're gorgeous when you do._

Santana bites down so hard on the grin that's threatening to emerge that her cheeks start to hurt.

Then, she reads: _Thanks for a good time._

At the bottom, Rachel had signed her name with a tiny gold star sticker at the end.

\--

Santana tries not to think too much about it, because it's just Rachel, and it's just sex. But it's kind of hard to forget Rachel's long legs, the smoothness of her skin, or the little pants she lets out when she's close. It's hard to forget her laugh, her big round eyes that always seem to be sparkling about _something_ , and the way she'd looked straddling Santana's mouth, all toned muscle and quiet arousal.

Keeping in touch apparently means texting each other a few times a week. Sometimes Rachel sends over photos of Off-Broadway productions that she's in, and sometimes Santana snaps pictures of the parts of the city Rachel's never seen, with vague promises to be her tour guide, one day. They exchange stories about the people in their lives, the big things that irritate them, and the small things that make them happy.

Santana wants to tell Rachel that one of the things on that last list is _her_ , but it sounds so ridiculous and lame in her head that she doesn't go through with it.

They don't really talk on the phone, ever, but the tidbits of their lives that they share with each other is like a digital scrapbook of the time they're not spending together, and that should probably be Santana's first indication that what they had wasn't really a one-night stand.

(Her second is when this cute little blonde with great tits – totally her type – hits on her and she claims to have a girlfriend.)

\--

Rachel calls her unexpectedly about three months after their little tryst. She sounds nervous.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," she offers in lieu of a greeting.

Santana plays with the drawstring of her sweatpants. "I'm good. You?"

"Good."

Santana winces. This conversation is going nowhere fast.

Rachel clears her throat. "I have another audition next week, and I was wondering—"

"Yeah, of course," Santana cuts in, sounding way too eager. "You can stay with me. I, um, I live in a one-bedroom though, so—"

"That's not a problem for me," Rachel answers.

"—or I could take the couch." Santana buries her face in her hand as soon as she says it. Taking the couch is the last thing she wants to do. Not when Rachel's going to be on her bed half naked.

Rachel is quiet for a second, like she's building up the courage. "Or I could take you instead," she says lowly.

Santana squeezes her thighs together. "Shit, Rachel," she hisses. "You can't just say that."

Rachel laughs softly in her ear. "I fly into LAX Sunday morning, 10 AM."

"I can pick you up from the airport," Santana offers, still thinking about Rachel fucking her into oblivion.

"Thanks, Santana." Rachel pauses like she wants to say something else, but then she just says, "See you then."

\--

Santana picks Rachel up from the airport as promised, and there's this moment when she sees Rachel walking toward her that she's struck by how fucking gorgeous Rachel really is. The weather is considerably warmer than the last time Rachel was here, so she has on these tiny denim shorts and a fitted blouse that's unbuttoned way too low. Her legs seem to go on for miles.

Rachel's cheeks are all rosy, like she's been blushing, and _god_.

"Hi."

Santana grins. "Hey. Welcome back."

Rachel pushes herself up slightly on her toes and brushes a soft kiss to Santana's lips. "Missed you."

This girl is going to be the death of her. "Missed you, too."

Santana helps Rachel carry her suitcase out to the parking lot, and then loads it into the trunk. As soon as they're both buckled in, Santana pulls out of the lot and onto the highway. It's seriously problematic because Santana's starting to get that stirring at the pit of her stomach, and she can barely focus on anything that isn't Rachel Berry within groping distance.

"When's your audition?" she manages to ask.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Rachel replies. "It's the lead female role for this procedural drama that looks promising."

"How long are you staying?"

"Four days. I was planning to fly back tomorrow night after the audition, but I wanted to spend some more time with you." Rachel pauses. "I hope that's okay?"

Santana totally gets this achy feeling in her chest. "Yeah, of course."

Rachel's hands play nervously with her seatbelt. "Santana, you're driving recklessly."

Is she? Shit. She figures honesty is the best policy here. "I just want to get home as quickly as possible."

Rachel laughs. "What's waiting for you there?" she teases.

Santana lets this warm smile spread across her face. "This girl."

"What's her name?" Rachel presses, playfully feigning curiosity. "Do I know her?"

"I don't know, but she's real cute. I'm planning on banging her."

Rachel laughs again. "Big dreamer."

Santana looks over at Rachel, and she's smiling. Her cheeks are rosy again. Santana's about five seconds away from saying something really fucking stupid.

"That's not all I want her for though," she clarifies lamely.

Rachel tilts her head. "Oh?"

Santana's cheeks burn. "All I mean is that I'm really happy to just see her." God, now she remembers why she doesn't do stupid shit like this.

Rachel reaches over and brushes the back of her fingers against Santana's hot cheeks.

\--

Santana manages not to jump Rachel the moment she steps into her apartment, which, great success. Except she totally wants to, and she's pretty sure Rachel would respond favorably, so maybe it's not so great a success after all.

Santana figures it's only polite to show Rachel where everything is first, but her apartment isn't exactly huge, so that part takes all of one minute, and then they're back to staring at each other again.

"You can leave your stuff in the bedroom," Santana offers. "There are a few empty hangers in the closet if you need them."

"I think I'm going to take a shower," Rachel says after a beat. "Commercial airplanes are notoriously germy."

Santana nods. "Yeah, sure. Just turn on the ventilation. It's the knob under the light switch. I set out a towel for you. It's the blue one."

Rachel nods and carries her suitcase into Santana's bedroom. It's so quiet that Santana hears her unzip her suitcase, rummage around for a sec, and then Rachel reappears with a change of clothes. She stands there for a second like she's internally debating something.

"Santana, would you… like to join me?"

The look on Santana's face must be pretty hilarious, because Rachel laughs.

"You've seen me naked before, remember?" Rachel teases.

Yeah, she fucking remembers, but she also remembers having her tongue inside her, so like, weak argument. But she follows Rachel into the bathroom anyway and strips down. Rachel does the same, and Santana can't help the way her eyes linger. She wants to touch Rachel so badly.

Rachel turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, then enters the shower stall, glancing back at Santana from under her eyelashes. First of all, that should be illegal. Second, Rachel's wet from head to toe and Santana's standing there gaping at her instead of like, copping all the feels, so. She'd better fix that.

Santana walks into the stall and slides the glass door shut behind her. Immediately, Rachel is kissing her, licking into her mouth with these soft sighs, and Santana moans embarrassingly loudly. Rachel's hands slide down Santana's torso, kneading her skin, until one of them slips between Santana's legs and starts rubbing hard circles around Santana's clit. Santana nearly falls over, but she grabs hold of the handrail and leans back against the wall for balance.

Rachel leans down, taking a nipple into her mouth and playing with it with her tongue before dropping to her knees and pressing kisses to Santana's abdomen. She lifts one of Santana's legs and rests it over her shoulder, and her hands are steady against Santana's hips when she licks once, slowly, at the hot skin that's now exposed.

"Fuck, Rachel." Santana's free hand finds the top of Rachel's head. "Fuck."

Rachel moans like she's the one being eaten out, and then her tongue is darting in and out, up and down, her thick lips sucking on swollen flesh, and Santana feels like she's seriously going to pass out from the sensation.

And then she notices that one of Rachel's hands is working furiously between her own thighs, and that pushes her over, hard, Rachel's name tumbling from her lips. Rachel tongues Santana's sensitive skin for a moment before backing away and lifting Santana's leg off her shoulder. Her fingers are still inside herself when she stands up. It's pathetic how quickly Santana starts to get wet again at the sight of Rachel finger fucking herself.

Santana kisses Rachel as hot water rains down over them, then reaches down and nudges Rachel's hand away, quickly replacing it with her own. Rachel arches as Santana enters her.

"Rach," she murmurs softly, peppering kisses along the column of Rachel's neck. "God, you're so sexy like this."

Rachel whimpers. "Faster. Please."

Santana complies, pistoning her fingers in and out until Rachel's face scrunches up and Santana feels the flesh around her fingers tighten. Rachel is still quiet as ever in climax.

\--

Rachel explains, once they've been forced out of the shower by the water starting to run cold, that she prefers not going out the day before an audition, because freak accidents happen, and she doesn't want to have to slap on a pound of cover up in case she gets punched in the face. Accidentally.

Santana's not sure the chance of Rachel being punched in the face by a complete stranger is high enough to warrant concern, but she's more than happy to order takeout and stay in with Rachel, especially because it's a lot easier to cop a feel when there's no one else around.

So Santana finds a place nearby that has a decent vegan selection and orders for both of them, and when the food arrives, they lay it out on the coffee table in the living room, turn on some trashy reality show, and dig in.

It's nice having Rachel around, even if Santana has no idea what they're doing. They spend the rest of the day catching up and making out, and it's seriously stupid how much Santana wants to just do something idiotic like propose to Rachel when she agrees that mushrooms are the greatest pizza toppings of all time.

That night, they curl up together under the covers, bodies slightly touching. Rachel presses a kiss to Santana's lips and murmurs goodnight, but neither of them sleeps. After a moment of staring at each other, Rachel laughs.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You," Santana answers without thinking, then laughs a little at herself.

Rachel grins. "Yeah?"

"Wondering how many times I can make you come after you kill this audition and get the part."

It's not really what she'd been thinking about, but—well, now she is, so.

Rachel runs her hand down Santana's face. "I really enjoy spending time with you."

Santana flushes, her heart beating a little quicker in her chest. "Me too."

Rachel presses another kiss to Santana's lips. "Sleep."

Santana closes her eyes, but not before finding Rachel's hand under the covers and holding on.

\--

In the morning, Santana manages to untangle herself from Rachel without waking her up. She makes her way to the kitchen to start some coffee and toast herself a bagel. While she waits, she sneaks into her bathroom and finds Rachel's toiletries sitting neatly in one corner of the counter. She knows that Rachel's going to retouch her makeup before she goes in for her audition, so she scribbles Rachel a good luck note and stuffs it into her makeup bag when she's not looking.

By the time she returns to the kitchen, Rachel is sitting at the table, wide awake.

"Morning!" Rachel greets cheerily, and okay, Santana's going to have to get used to that.

Santana chuckles and leans down to peck Rachel on the lips. "Morning, baby."

Rachel smiles at her all wide-eyed and happy. "Your bed is so comfortable."

Santana raises an eyebrow. "I mean, if you get this job, you'll be moving to LA, right?" She doesn't really know how to say it without saying it.

Rachel's eyes soften. "Yeah, I will be."

Santana shrugs. "You should just stay here," she offers, trying to sound off-handed when she's basically asking Rachel to move in with her, which, wow, this is not the order of events that most relationships go through.

"That is a terrible idea."

Santana flinches. "Oh. Okay. I just thought—wow." She doesn't expect the rejection to hurt as much as it does.

Rachel shakes her head furiously. "No, that's not what I meant. God, I always—I do want to live with you, Santana."

Now Santana's just getting annoyed. "Then what the hell is the problem?"

"I want to date you," Rachel explains.

Santana's heart totally flips at that, but Rachel's explanation doesn't make any sense. If she wants to date her, then this living arrangement works out great.

"I want to date you," Rachel repeats, "properly. I want to pick you up at your door before dates and compliment you on how gorgeous you look. Bring you flowers. I want to court you."

Santana laughs incredulously. "But why? We've already had sex like twenty times. Pretty sure I'm buying whatever you're selling."

"Santana. Do you remember when I was ready to marry Finn when I was seventeen?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because you were an idiot."

Rachel ignores her. "I learned that in order to grow a healthy relationship, I can't rush into anything."

Santana laughs. "So luring me into the shower and going down on me was clearly the way to keep this relationship on the slow track. Gotcha."

"That was just—" Rachel flushes hard. "I couldn't help myself. You're so—" She pauses, shaking her head. "You scare me, Santana. You scare me because I feel so strongly for you after such a short amount of time."

Santana chooses to deflect. "Pretty sure we've known each other since we were like, five, and I kicked sand in your face. Sorry about that, by the way."

Rachel bites her lip, undeterred. "You know what I mean, Santana. We didn't really know each other that well in high school, and we're different people now than we were then."

This conversation is getting way too deep for Santana to handle. She just wants to keep doing what they're doing and not have to _talk_ about what they're doing. Shouldn't it be enough that she's completely crazy about Rachel?

Rachel takes a deep breath. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. I might not even get the part."

"So if you don't get the part, we're through?" She's being a stubborn fuck and she knows it.

Rachel does, too. "You're being unreasonable, Santana," she says calmly. "You know I can't just relocate to LA without financial security, just like you wouldn't relocate to New York if—"

"You never fucking _asked_ ," Santana cries out, mostly in anger, but truthfully, if Rachel had asked her to pack her bags, hop a plane to New York and never look back? She probably would've. But maybe she just has less to lose. Rachel's been dreaming about Broadway since before she could walk.

Santana feels like a complete asshole, because everything Rachel's said so far makes perfect sense. Santana's probably still reeling from feeling like Rachel shot her down when in reality, she was just looking out for their relationship. Everything fucking _hurts_.

"I'm sorry." Santana swallows around the lump in her throat. "Rachel, I—"

Rachel's staring down at her lap, and Santana watches as a few teardrops fall onto her bare thighs. Shit.

"I should go get ready for my audition," Rachel says in this tiny, teary voice that completely destroys Santana. "Do you want me to check into a hotel after?"

"No. No, don't do that, Rachel, god." She's itching to just scoop Rachel into her arms and hold her, or kiss her, or _something_.

Rachel nods, then wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand. She rises from her seat and disappears into the bedroom.

Groaning, Santana takes her bagel from the toaster and pours herself a mug of coffee. The bagel slices are a little charred, and the coffee has become lukewarm, but she downs both anyway as she watches Rachel get dressed for her audition.

It isn't until Santana's front door closes that she realizes the good luck note is still in Rachel's makeup bag, and that she'll probably find it later and cry.

\--

Santana goes out, because everything in her apartment reminds her of Rachel. She wonders briefly if she'll have to move if this doesn't work out. She'd given Rachel the spare key the night before, so she doesn't even have to worry about Rachel not being able to get in if she stays out late.

It's too early to hit the bar, so Santana invites the only person she knew from high school who ended up in LA – Sam Evans – out to lunch. She hasn't told anyone about her… relationship with Rachel, but she's dying to now.

"So Rachel Berry's in town," Santana says as soon as they sit down.

Sam chuckles. "I know."

Santana, paranoid, glances over her shoulder. "How?"

"We're Facebook friends."

"You're Facebook friends," Santana echoes.

"Yeah, she's been posting about it. She's got an audition coming up, doesn't she?"

Santana wrings a paper napkin nervously between her fingers. "Sam, what if I told you that I was sleeping with Rachel?"

Sam laughs. "Yeah, right." But when that garners no reaction from Santana, he looks genuinely surprised. "Wait, really? You and _Rachel_?"

Santana looks down. "I know. It's—it's stupid, but I think I'm like, actually falling for her."

Sam's eyes go as big as his mouth. "Wow. Santana, that's— _wow_."

"Yeah." Santana rolls her eyes. She doesn't really want to talk about it. She just wants someone else to know. "We got into a big fight this morning before she left for her audition, and I'm all messed up about it."

"Want me to round up some of the guys and go drinking?"

Santana lets out a laugh. "Bless you, Sammy Evans."

\--

Santana's not _drunk_ , but she's a little tipsy. When she walks into her apartment, Rachel's sitting on the couch with a glass of red wine, watching TV. As soon as she notices Santana entering, she mutes the program.

"How was the audition?" Santana asks as she kicks off her shoes.

"I'm not sure," Rachel replies, "I think I have a shot, but—depends what they're looking for, I suppose."

Santana takes a seat next to Rachel on the couch and tries to ignore how quickly her heart is pounding. "Listen, Rach, I'm sorry for being such a bitch."

Rachel offers a tiny smile. "It's okay."

Santana shakes her head. "No, it's not. Rachel, I really like you."

Rachel softens. "I really like you, too."

Santana takes Rachel's hand up to her lips and kisses her knuckles. "If you get this job, I'll help you go apartment hunting."

Rachel smiles. "Thank you."

Santana feels a lot better about the whole thing.

"So now that your audition is over and done with, ready to see the city tomorrow?"

"Yes!" Rachel clasps her hands together. "Where are you taking me?"

Santana laughs at Rachel's enthusiasm. "It's a surprise."

Rachel leans in all coy and asks, "Anything I can do to change your mind about that?"

"No, but—" Santana gives her a wicked grin. "I'd be happy to let you try."

Santana leads Rachel to the bedroom, lays her down, and undresses her. She kisses her way down Rachel's body, paying ample attention to her breasts, then back up again. She leans down next to Rachel's ear and asks her how she feels about strap-ons. Rachel moans and cants her hips, and Santana grins. She leaves for a moment to strap up, and when she returns, Rachel's legs are spread, and she's playing with her own clit, and Santana maybe kind of falls in love with her all over again.

\--

Santana takes Rachel to the beach for lunch, where a beautiful picnic is waiting for them. Santana had gotten Sam to set it up for her, and honestly, she's pretty impressed by his work. She'll have to remember to thank him later. Rachel squeals in delight when she sees it laid out, then turns to Santana with a huge grin on her face.

"You did this for me?"

Santana smiles sheepishly. "Technically, I got Sam Evans to drunkenly agree to do it. I'm actually a little surprised he did."

Rachel's eyes light up. "Sam's here?!"

Santana wraps her arms around Rachel and taps her lightly on the butt. "No, today's just about us, but we can hang out with him tomorrow if you'd like."

"That'd be great," Rachel says as she moves to sit down on the blanket.

Santana does the same, then reaches for the picnic basket and peers inside. There are a couple Subway sandwiches, and a note scribbled on a napkin with what looks like purple crayon.

_if you have sex on the blanket, you can keep it. –sam_

Santana shows it to Rachel, who laughs, then gives her this totally seductive look, and yeah, Sam's not getting his blanket back.

They spend the early afternoon eating Subway sandwiches and drinking wine coolers, and when the food's gone, they lie down together on the blanket to cuddle. Even though they're fairly far away from anyone else, there are enough people on the beach that Santana's pretty sure they'd get arrested if they started getting it on, so instead, she slips her hand under Rachel's shirt and strokes over her skin, leaning over occasionally to kiss Rachel.

It's really, really nice.

\--

They don't spend that much time on the actual tourist attractions, because Santana thinks they're boring and would rather be like, not doing that, so she half-asses a city tour, and then takes Rachel on an airship tour aboard the Eureka, because it happens to be moored at Long Beach that weekend.

There are only five other people on their ride – an elderly couple and three Swedish tourists – so as soon as they're in the air and cleared to walk around the cabin, Rachel and Santana claim the rear loveseat and look out the window at the city of Los Angeles.

Rachel leans her head down on Santana's shoulder, her hand reaching across Santana's lap to take Santana's hand and intertwine their fingers.

Santana presses a kiss to the crown of Rachel's head. "Ever want to join the mile high club?" she whispers.

Rachel giggles. "What makes you think I'm not a member?"

Santana quirks an eyebrow, and no, she's not _jealous_ , but—

"Spring break junior year," Rachel explains. "We flew down to Mexico, and the boy I sort of had a thing with at the time… well." She blushes. "But there was no penetration," she adds quickly, as though that makes it better.

"Oh my god, Rachel!"

Santana glances around the cabin. There's no way she can get away with slipping her hands under Rachel's skirt right now, nor could they both disappear into the bathroom, because there are only like, seven other people on board, including the pilot and co-pilot. Then, she gets an idea.

Santana leans closer and nibbles lightly on Rachel's earlobe before whispering, "Remember how I said I could make a woman come without even touching her?"

Rachel squirms. "Santana…"

"God, I want to be touching you so badly right now." She uses her tongue to trace a line along the shell of Rachel's ear. "Just slide my fingers inside you, spread you out so everyone can see you, see the way you look when I'm fucking you."

Rachel shuts her eyes and starts breathing heavily. "Please…"

"You're wet thinking about it, aren't you? Thinking about me kneeling down in front of you right now and eating you out. You want that, don't you?"

"Y-yes," Rachel hisses, her thighs flexing.

"You feel incredible around my fingers, Rachel," Santana continues, knowing that it won't take much more, "all slippery and hot and tight."

Rachel lets out this tiny whimper. Her hands are gripping her thighs so hard that her knuckles are white.

Santana brushes her lips across Rachel's pulse point. "Let go, baby."

Rachel comes around nothing, trembling violently, and Santana gently strokes her face as she recovers, cheeks red from arousal or humiliation, Santana doesn't really know. Maybe both. Thankfully, nobody else seems to have noticed, more interested in the views out of the airship.

Santana laughs and kisses the corner of Rachel's mouth. "You're such a little exhibitionist."

Rachel buries her face against Santana's neck and giggles. "How wet are you right now?"

Santana groans. "I don't want to talk about it."

She feels Rachel smile against her skin. "When we get back to your place, I would like to take you on your hands and knees."

"Not helping," Santana mutters, "Jesus fucking Christ."

The rest of the airship ride feels like an eternity.

\--

Rachel makes good on her promise and fucks Santana on the floor of her living room while the sun sets outside her window.

\--

After dinner, Santana grabs a blanket – not the one Sam gave them for the picnic but a large knit one – and takes Rachel on a gondola ride along the canals of Naples Island. They curl up together under the blanket as the boat floats slowly down the stream, illuminated only by the moon and the small buildings around them.

"Thank you for today," Rachel says with a soft smile. "I never imagined you to be the grand romantic gestures type."

"Yeah, well." Santana feels warm. "I know you are, so."

Rachel's smile widens. "I love you."

Santana nearly chokes on herself. "Um, I—"

Rachel presses her fingertips against Santana's lips, silencing her. "I just want you to know that, because I need you to know that even if I don't get this job, I'm not giving up on us. There will be other opportunities. If you're willing to wait for me, I'm willing to wait for you."

"Rachel…"

"You don't have to say anything," Rachel cuts in. "I just wanted you to know where I stand."

Santana kisses Rachel once, softly. "I'm not giving up on us either."

That night, their last night together, Santana goes down on Rachel for hours. It's slow and sensual and perfect, and when they fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, completely spent, Rachel's fingers are still inside Santana.

\--

Santana fucking hates the airport.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" Santana asks, only somewhat successful at holding back her own tears.

Rachel shakes her head, even as she wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Santana pulls Rachel closer and kisses her sweetly. "You'd better call." She really fucking hates the airport.

"Every day," Rachel promises.

"God." She kisses Rachel again. "And I want to know as soon as you do."

Rachel nods. "You will."

Santana leans down next to Rachel's ear. "I love you."

Rachel kisses Santana's cheek. "I love you too."

Santana watches Rachel drag her suitcase into the airport and stands there for another ten minutes before getting back in her car and driving home.

Santana's apartment is seriously depressing without Rachel around. It still smells like Rachel's perfume, her shampoo, and there's still a vague Rachel-shaped dent on one of the couch cushions that Rachel had claimed as her own.

She tries to avoid the bedroom altogether, but when she finally enters to grab a jacket from her closet, there's an 8-by-10 framed photo of Rachel's face on her pillow. Rachel's asleep in the picture, her hand clutching Santana's at the edge of the frame, and god, that almost makes Santana start to cry like a little bitch.

When she reads the note at the corner – it just says, _dreaming of you -R_ , with a gold star – Santana really does start crying.

\--

Their time apart really isn't that bad, all things considered. They call and text and FaceTime, and honestly, it's almost as good as the real thing. The only thing Santana can't have is Rachel's pliant body under her fingertips, but Santana's not the only one who can make a woman climax without touching her, so… yeah.

Exactly a week after Rachel leaves, Santana is woken up in the middle of the night with a phone call from Rachel.

"There's a three-hour time difference," Santana grumbles into the phone, "and I know you can do basic arithmetic, so—"

"I got the part," a tiny but excited voice at the other end says.

Santana sits up, instantly wide awake. "You what?"

Rachel laughs. "Santana, I got the part! I'm moving to LA!"

"Oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking _god_."

The conversation doesn't get any more coherent from there on, and Santana's heart is racing too quickly for her to absorb any information aside from her being able to kiss Rachel again in a few weeks.

"When you get here, you should stay with me," Santana says without thinking.

"Well, I'd have to until I find a place to—"

Santana shakes her head. "No, permanently," she clarifies, the adrenaline making it easy. "Just move in with me. Look, Rachel, I know you've been screwed over before, but I'm different. We're older, and I'm different. I made you a PowerPoint presentation."

Rachel laughs. "No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," Santana admits. "But I totally will if it'd convince you to move in with me. One of us would be paying rent on an empty apartment anyway. We can save the money and use it to travel, or adopt a kid, or buy a house, or—or whatever."

"You're rambling," Rachel says with a giggle.

"Rachel," Santana bites out nervously.

"Make me a PowerPoint."

Santana almost laughs. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes," Rachel replies earnestly, "and present it to me when I get there."

"You're ridiculous, but okay. I'm going to PowerPoint the shit out of you."

Rachel laughs, and a moment later, Santana joins in.

\--

Santana's PowerPoint has exactly three slides.

The first is a bar graph comparing the number of orgasms Rachel would receive if she lived alone versus if she lived with Santana.

The second is a picture of herself spread out naked on her bed, with the caption, _what you would see every morning if you lived with me_.

The third slide just reads, _pretty sure you're the one_.

Rachel's laughing-crying when she nods, kisses Santana, and says, "Okay."

 

_fin_


End file.
